As the shadows recede and reveal
separating the dream from what is real,
a cold November breeze blows
as i curl my toes within my socks of winter fleece
watching the cigarette smoke rise for a moment
from my gargoyle perch upon the porch
to be whisked away when the wind takes it
and send it sailing over the treeline
Branches now visible what darkness made indivisible,
the oneness of shadows shattering in the pale light
Wooden fingers reaching for the sky
almost in supplication,
the Eternal Question: Why?
What reason for the Seasons
other than the scientific,
could you perhaps be more specific?
Did perfect weather vanish with our banishment
from the Garden?
Is it a lesson to be learned
to take the bitter with the sweet
or was your heart just hardened?
What can we do to to achieve pardon?
(11-22-10)
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